


Lost in Translation

by orphan_account



Series: Flutz [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Explicit Language, Gen, Graphic Description, Gross, I had to make a new relationship tag for this, Katsuki Toshiya is a good dad, Sickfic, Vomiting, World Travel, Worth It, Yuri Plisetsky Swears, Yuri Plisetsky is a Brat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:40:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21839092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: I really just wanted an excuse to write about papa Katsuki. Sorry, Yurio.
Relationships: Katsuki Toshiya & Yuri Plisetsky
Series: Flutz [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1573555
Kudos: 36





	Lost in Translation

Coming to Japan is the only play in the book, but he should've thought to pack a few practical things, like first aid supplies. Normally, he's not in charge of boring stuff like that, though. He regrets the oversight not long after he's had his dinner, however.

That Katsudon stuff is delicious, but it's really heavy. Yakov definitely wouldn't have let him eat it. Except that Yakov isn't here, and after leaving in a hurry, then catching such a long flight, then all that time spent trying to track Viktor down (plus shopping a little,) it had been hard to do anything besides inhale the whole bowl all at once.

He's regretting it now, as his stomach does a slow, heavy roll.

Yuri belches loud and sharp, wincing when his stomach gurgles in protest. He groans and lays a shaky hand across it. He can actually feel it churning around in there. That can't be good. "Yurio! Remember your manners!" Viktor raps on the wall and chastises him for it. In English, so that everyone can tell what a thoughtful house guest he is.

It makes Yuri sick, even sicker than the stupid katsudon. "Fuck off!" Yuri shouts back in Russian, followed by a low, gurgling belch. That one is almost a relief, except for the way something in his stomach tightens afterward and doesn't relax again. He wraps an arm around his stomach protectively now and blinks as a bead of sweat drips down from his hairline into his eye.

Why didn't he bring some damn medicine with him? It's not like this is his first trip abroad somewhere with strange food that might mess his stomach up. Stupid!

The next burp is hot and acidic. Yuri sits up in alarm, and feels his mouth fill with saliva. Crap! If he had time to sit down and make a list of the last thing he wants to do right now, throwing up in Yuri Katsuki's house with Viktor Nikiforov and a bunch of other strange assholes he doesn't even know probably in hearing distance would definitely be on it.

His stomach doesn't agree, though, that's becoming clear. Yuri closes his eyes and takes a few slow, controlled breaths, praying silently that the nausea will pass uneventfully. His stomach makes a squelching sound, then goes worryingly still. Damn it.

Yuri's eyes fly open and he gets gingerly to his feet. He's out of time now. This is happening whether he deals with it or not, and he's not going to let it happen in this stupid closet he's supposed to sleep in tonight. He can feel it trying to rise in his throat already and swallows it back down as hard as he can. His stomach groans audibly.

As he opens the door, his whole body is trembling. He tiptoes out, mentally begging Viktor to go harass the other Yuri and let him just get this over with in peace. He cups a hand to his mouth loosely and glances down the corridor in both directions, only now realizing that he doesn't even know where the freaking bathroom is.

He groans again softly, feeling tears of frustration prick his eyes. He blinks them back and squares his shoulders, because crying isn't gonna help him not spew on the weird Japanese floors, and if he loses it here people will definitely know about it. The only way to keep some of his dignity in tact is to find somewhere private, and fast.

His stomach rolls over again and Yuri jolts with a queasy hiccup, but he's more distracted by the hand that suddenly appears on his shoulder. He glances up, wide eyed. The person who caught him is... that's Mr. Katsuki, right? Before he can even accept his fate and just ask where the toilet is, his stomach lurches hard enough to make him gag.

Yuri clasps the hand over his mouth with renewed conviction and folds over, with his other arm clamped around his stomach. His vision goes a little fuzzy. It's a few seconds before he even realizes that the old guy is guiding him somewhere by the shoulders.

It's not like he can argue at the minute anyway, so he gives in and lets it happen. He squeezes his eyes shut against the dizzy onslaught of now moving scenery, hoping they're going somewhere far away from everybody else. Well, far away but also really close because he can taste the acid at the back of his throat now and knows he's about to give his dinner up.

"Okay. Good boy. Here is okay." Mr. Katsuki murmurs in English. The quiet instruction is followed up with a light tap on each of Yuri's shoulders, encouraging him to kneel. He obeys blindly, not daring to open his eyes until he's crouched on the ground and feels a tiled floor in front of him.

Yuri doesn't have time to lament that they're in what looks like a public shower room before his stomach seizes painfully and he grasps the bucket in front of him so tightly his knuckles blanch. He vomits so forcefully some of it splashes back and slops over the side of the bucket, followed by a harsh fit of coughing as his lungs protest the sudden internal squeezing.

"Oh god," Yuri moans in English when he gets a breath in again. It comes out embarrassingly plaintive. Mr. Katsuki must notice, because he moos gently and gives Yuri's shoulders a careful massage. It seems like a weird thing to do, or at least it's something no one's ever done for him before, but the muscles there are really tense at the moment. His whole body is.

Yuri hiccups roughly, and it turns into an unproductive gag. He can feel his stomach clenching, and he can feel the heavy miserable lump of katsudon that's still rolling around down there. He lets loose a string of curses that would make even Yakov blush, because he's pretty damn sure no one here but Viktor can understand him anyway.

Oily sweat beads up on his face and neck while Yuri shakes so hard his teeth rattle. "I'm not-" he gives an embarrassingly high pitched hiccup and leans forward again, panting softly, "done." It's meant to be a warning, but his voice cracks and it ends up sounding like he's just whining about it. Ugh.

Another low, wet belch gurgles up out of him, followed by a half a dozen painful retches that bring up a second heavy splash of vomit. Yuri coughs, gasps, gurgles, spits and wheezes like he's been thrown overboard a ship instead of crouched in the relative safety of a sort-of stranger's home/business.

Mr. Katsuki pats his head like he's a dog. "Easy. You're okay. Good job," he says reassuringly. It's so weird and earnest that Yuri laughs, which quickly turns into wharking.

It's painful, he can't manage to pull in a breath at the same time, and it ends in a chunky stream of mushy yellow rice that pours out down his front as much as it does into the bucket. The sensation is so disgusting he shudders as he leans forward and retches again, this time mostly overshooting the damn bucket.

Yuri curses in every language he knows between panting and spewing his guts up in several more bitter waves of disgusting half-digested food before his stomach decides to take a break. Mr. Katsuki squeezes his shoulder. "All done?"

Yuri closes his eyes and shakes his head miserably in reply. His stomach still kills, and he doesn't feel empty. He's pretty sure he's going to hurl again in a few minutes. Something warm and soft wraps around him then and he opens his eyes to see that it's Mr. Katsuki's robe. His brow furrows in confusion, but it feels kind of nice so he doesn't object.

He doesn't know if the shaking is really about being cold, especially since it doesn't stop with the added layer, but they are sitting on tiles in April. It helps a little, he thinks, and pulls it closer around himself. Mr. Katsuki ruffles Yuri's hair gently and gets to his feet.

Yuri winces sympathetically when his knees creak. He feels a little bad for making an old guy kneel on a hard floor like that. The guy doesn't seem to mind, though. He smiles beatifically down at Yuri and holds up a finger in the symbol for _one minute_. "Good job." He says again, and Yuri offers him a weak thumbs up because he's just too sick and exhausted to laugh this time. Of all the absurd things to say, that's gotta be pretty high on the list. 

While Mr. Katsuki is gone Yuri looks around. It's definitely a shower room, but at least it's empty aside from him. His stomach rolls over in warning when his eyes land on the puddle of sick in front of him. Great, he puked on the freaking floor. Not to mention himself.

He gets slowly to his feet with an annoyed grunt, strips out of his soiled clothes and tosses them into the basket of used towels in the corner. When he finds the shelf of clean towels he does what he can to clean up the vomit that didn't make the bucket. The floor will still need sanitized or something, but he manages to gag his way through getting all the chunky stuff wiped up anyway. 

That's about when the adrenaline wears off, and it's suddenly all he can do to turn the nozzle on the water spout before he slides down the wall next to it with a gross, sweaty squeaking sound. His stomach chooses that moment to be a dick, and a he coughs up a mouthful of rice and bile on himself. Yuri bangs his head against the wall and lets out a noise that's definitely an actual whine.

Naturally, that's when Mr. Katsuki walks back in. His mouth makes a little 'o' of surprise as he crouches down in front of Yuri, who is now naked, not even under the damn water spout yet, and covered in his own sick. Yuri blinks up at him defiantly, halfheartedly covering his junk as if the old guy even cares, and shrugs.

"Sorry," he grumbles, although it sounds more like a challenge than an apology if he's being honest about it. He's feeling pretty shitty at the moment, and it just kind of comes out that way.

"Oh dear," Mr. Katsuki responds. He brings over another clean towel and starts to wipe off Yuri's chest. Yuri's eyes widen and he shoves the towel away like it burns.

He snaps without thinking. "Hey, back off!"

If Mr. Katsuki is offended, he doesn't show it. Mild surprise is a better description if his expression is anything to go by. He blinks, and then offers Yuri the towel instead. Yuri snatches it from him a little more harshly than is probably necessary, which proves to be a mistake. His stomach twists again with the movement and he struggles to get the towel in front of himself in time to catch what comes up.

Luckily for him Mr. Katsuki is quicker, and a clean bucket is thrust under his chin before the vomit splashes onto his skin again. Yuri sticks his whole head in it as his stomach clenches and spasms. He forcefully expels another mouthful of vomit as his body tries to turn itself inside out. Yuri grips the bucket like a lifeline. He groans, and it echoes around him nauseatingly.

"Oh god, " Yuri pants again, as another painful belch ushers more vomit up. He's positive he didn't eat nearly as much today as he's thrown up by now. He spits, frustrated and embarrassed, and wipes a shaking wrist across his mouth. Scant seconds later a sharp hiccup has him diving forward again and belching up what has to be internal organs at this point.

"Easy. It's okay," Mr. Katsuki says again from somewhere above him, outside of the barf bucket. Yuri grunts, too spent to curse at him. It's definitely for the best. The guy has been creepily nice to Yuri through the whole awful messy business, and it's not his fault that Yuri finds it patronizing.

It's just that he's used to doing this alone at best, or to laughter, hoots and catcalls outside of a trash can or a stall in a staging area at worst. Someone saying encouraging meaningless bullshit and patting his head is just really effing humiliating. He's not a baby. He's not so pathetic that he needs _someone else's parents_ treating him like one, either. The whole thing just sits wrong with him, almost as badly as the damn katsudon.

Still, he knows he's being a jerk. Yuri sighs, and chances pulling his face out of the bucket for a minute to glance up at the guy. He looks very fatherly and concerned, not disgusted or pitying or snide. Yuri forces himself to try and relax a little, which only ends in him diving back into the bucket to bring up another deep, painful belch and a stream of runny bile.

Thank the heavens, because that has to mean that he's nearly done here, right? He hiccups weakly, shudders, and forces out the closest thing to an apology he can manage at the moment. "I'm not sick. I just ate that-" he hiccups, belches, dry heaves, "ugh! I ate too fast." It ends up sounding more like an excuse. Pathetic.

Mr. Katsuki is apparently a brave man, because he chances putting a hand between Yuri's shoulders again and giving his back a few pats. Yuri burps and vomits in response. "Ahhh I understand. It's okay. Boys eat fast," he agrees in that same gentle, unflappable tone of voice.

Yuri, feeling pretty damned flapped at the moment, feels a new surge of resentment rise up in his throat. Or, actually- ugh. Yeah. It's just more bile. His eyes fill with reflexive tears again, which really pisses him off, because crying is just about the last way to convince someone that you're a capable adult who really, _seriously_ , doesn't need any help puking. 

"I'm not crying!" Yuri growls, but it tapers off into a weak, gurgling belch. Mr. Katsuki thumps his back a few times until Yuri heaves again. All that comes up is some slimy yellow shit that he's pretty sure is mucus. Nasty.

"Okay. Good job. All done?" Mr. Katsuki asks again. This time, Yuri lets the question hang for a minute while he checks in with himself. His stomach is sore as hell, but it feels less volatile. He doesn't feel as sweaty, even though he's still trembling pretty badly. That weird nameless urgent feeling is receding too. Yeah, maybe he finally is done.

He gives a small, tentative nod. Mr. Katsuki nods along with him. He carefully pries the bucket out of Yuri's hands, then inexplicably decides to take Yuri's wrist and press a few fingers into it near the pulse point.

Yuri stares at him blankly, waiting for the punchline because he's just too tired to ask for it, when the weirdest thing happens. The nausea abates a little. It doesn't exactly go away, but there's definitely just...less. Yuri blinks up at him stupidly, beyond words for at least one blissful moment. Mr. Katsuki lets go of Yuri's wrist and nods again. He gestures to the floor, where Yuri had tried (and not really succeeded honestly) to clean up after himself earlier. "Thank you. You're good boy."

It's more than a little strange to be thanked for puking on someone's floor. Yuri shrugs, finding himself feeling shy only now that the urgency of the situation has died down. He shifts to cover himself again and feels his face flush. He snorts softly. "Nah. You only think that because you can't understand me."

It doesn't make him feel any less ridiculous when Mr. Katsuki ruffles his hair again. "Wrong! I understand." It's a cheeky response for an old guy, and in spite of himself Yuri is almost amused. He can't lift his eyes off the floor until the wave of shame finally breaks over his head, but then he sighs and glances up.

Mr. Katsuki is still there, setting some things down on a bamboo bench. "Clean clothes, here. Chemistry, here. Sweat, here. Drink slowly. Also, a bell." He instructs, proving Yuri right after all. The guy's English isn't great. Yuri coughs out some kind of embarrassed thanks and waits for him to finally leave. He sighs in relief at being left alone at long last to lick his wounds in peace.

It takes him an embarrassingly long time to get cleaned up, and even longer to figure out the weird Japanese clothes. He manages, but only after several frustrating moments of wishing he'd taken karate classes at some point in his lifetime. There are two pairs of slippers, which he doesn't really understand, so he just picks the warmest ones and slides them on. It's a relief, after the cold tile.

By 'chemistry' the guy must've meant the weird grassy smelling powder dissolved in warm water that tastes like ass and garbage. Yuri nearly spits it right back out on the floor, but the memory of being thanked for cleaning it earlier makes him grudgingly swallow instead. He shudders, and his stomach gurgles, but it doesn't immediately bounce back up so he decides he can live with it for now.

The 'sweat,' worryingly, literally says that on the bottle. Pocari Sweat. What the flying hell? Yuri eyes it suspiciously for a long minute, and decides that he's not going to risk it after how bad the last thing tasted. Although... he has to admit that he's already starting to feel a little less shitty. Maybe the ass and garbage drink isn't the meanest thing someone's done to him today after all. Internal debate with himself thus settled, curiosity wins out.

He unscrews the cap on the bottle and sniffs it. It smells more like lemon than sweat, so he tries a tiny sip. The taste doesn't match the scent, and he gags quietly, clamping a hand back over his mouth and swallowing hard. It's not even bad as much as his senses are too keyed up to handle the disparity. Crinkling his nose in distaste, Yuri screws the cap back on and pockets it for later.

One taste is enough for him to understand that it's a sports drink. It has the weird salty tang of one, and he has to admit that he could probably use some electrolytes after all. Even if some jackass decided to name it something gross like Pocari Sweat.

Most confusingly, there really is a bell. Yuri puzzles over it for a long moment. What, is it so they can hear him walking around? He rolls his eyes a little, then has to grab the bench for balance. Shit, he's still sorta woozy. He's also warmer now, plus the queasy feeling is mild and bearable. Fine, whatever. He'll take the stupid bell if that's all the guy is asking in return.

He slides it into his pocket too, tucks a few towels and a bucket under his arm nonchalantly just in case, then jingles all the way down the corridor as he searches for his room. He needs to get some rest before tomorrow so he can show that jerk Viktor that he's betting on the wrong Yuri.

**Author's Note:**

> I had a few other YOI fics sitting around, but they've been deleted somehow. I probably left my phone open in my pocket? I'm not sure. Lesson learned.
> 
> Either way, I'm not too worried about getting them back up right away since they're not related to this one. Yay for stand-alone shorts.
> 
> P.S. Fanfic runs on love. You know what to do.


End file.
